Many Firsts
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. There are certain mundane things in life that make it feel as if you're falling in love all over again.


**A/N:** Happy Birthday, **Amy**! I hope you had a wonderful day!

This is based on a series of OTP Prompts taken from several different places on Tumblr:

 _Imagine Person A is taller than Person B. When they kiss, A usually has to bend down. This time, however, A asks B to stand on the stairs. When B does, A kisses B._ **(OTP Prompts)**

 _Imagine your OTP shopping for their first apartment together, starting with a new bed, and testing out the mattresses. **(otpisms)**_

 _"Your stray red item turned my whites pink." **(sentence-fragments)**_

 _Imagine person A of your OTP is trying to do something while person B is giving them playful little kisses and bites down their neck and touching them teasingly. **(OTP Prompts)**_

(The summary doesn't really fit, but oh well. I'll change it when I can think of a better one.)

* * *

 _Many Firsts_

When Anna told Mary the news, her best friend did not respond with the enthusiasm she had been expecting. Instead, she said, "This spells the end, you know. It's all downhill from here." It was a rather disappointing and cynical outlook—she had been hoping that her best friend would be pleased for her—but Anna was determined not to let that spoil anything.

Because John had just asked her to move in with him, and it spelled the start of another great adventure.

They had been dating for two years now. In part, the Crawleys could be credited for orchestrating the whole thing. They had met at one of the family's big celebrations—Edith's eighteenth—and they had been almost inseparable since then. It had taken them a little time to get where they wanted to be—John had been in the throes of a messy divorce and had been reluctant to pull her into his troubles—but eventually she had thrown her hat into the ring and told him how she felt. He had tried to push her away. He had failed. They had had a first date at the theatre, and it had led to the start of a lifetime.

And now he wanted them to move in together.

"What?" she'd said, pushing up on his chest. They had been lying together in a very pleasant afterglow, and she had peered through the darkness, straining to see any signs of teasing on his face. John had pushed himself up a little too, forcing her to sit up beside him.

"I said, let's move in together," he'd said.

"Are you being serious? You're not drunk on sex or anything?"

He chuckled. "Now that would be quite something. But no, I'm being serious. I want us to move in together. I think it's time. What do you say?"

" _Yes!"_ she squealed, throwing her arms around him. "Oh, John! I'm assuming that you mean for me to move in here with you rather than you coming over to me? It would be a very tight squeeze in the flat, and I'm not sure how much I'd enjoy going to bed with you every night knowing that Mary is just next door."

"You've done it before," he teased her.

"Well, that's different. It was only a handful of times. I don't think I could stay quiet forever."

"I know that," said John, his voice all velvety silk. She slapped his chest, even as she felt thrills go through her. It wasn't really _her_ fault; he shouldn't be such a good lover. "But no, moving in with you wasn't what I had in mind. It would feel far too strange saying goodnight to someone I view like a goddaughter or niece while going to bed with her best friend. I want us to have our own space, just the two of us."

"So I'm going to move in here," she said.

But John shook his head. "Is this really a suitable place, though?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it's beautiful, I'll acknowledge that. But it's tiny. It's only got two bedrooms, and all of the rooms are small." He took a deep breath. "And I was thinking. I know we're not going to do it yet, but there's no doubt in my mind that one day in the future, I want to ask you to be my wife. And…and I suppose it's only natural that from marriage will come children. The cottage won't be big enough then. I know some people would say that it's wise to stay here while we don't need to move, but I think differently."

"Oh?" she said. She was still trying to get her head around the idea that John had given serious thought to children. That he _wanted_ them. They had not really talked about them in the course of their relationship. Anna was practical, and thought that enjoying the moment was much more important. She was old enough to know that when the time came, they could have a mature discussion about the matter. Some would say that it was too dangerous to fall so hard for someone if they might want different things at the end of the day, but Anna knew that they would think carefully about the pros and cons before coming to a momentous decision. It was one of the things that had always made her feel so safe with John.

"Yes," said John. "I was thinking…don't you think that it's a lovely idea for us to start building a home together where we'll eventually raise our family? A little family home that the children will always know? Somewhere with enough space for us all, and a garden for them to play in, and good, fresh air?"

A family home. It was something that she had dreamed of for so long, but had never dared to invest too much in for fear of jinxing it. And here John was, bringing it up. Did she think it was a lovely idea?

She thought of enough bedrooms for the children to have, of a large garden that could house a football net, or a swing, or a paddling pool in summer. She thought of a quiet, neat row of houses where they could grow up safely. A family pet for them to drive mad. A nest for them to always flock back to when they were grown.

Yes, she thought it was a very lovely idea.

"It would be nice," she said out loud. "Do you have any plans in mind?"

"Well, obviously we'd look for something together," he said at once. "So we could start looking straight away. I would put the cottage up for sale."

"And I've never paid rent because Mary won't allow me to," said Anna. She'd always felt very guilty about that, but her best friend had always waved it away without a care. She had her own very prominent fashion house, and her month's salary made Anna's eyes water with envy. Mary was generous with what she had, though, and it had enabled Anna to save up some money of her own. "We can pool our resources like a proper team."

John grinned. "I like the sound of that. And when we're moved in properly, we can finally have a joint account. What's mine is yours."

It was bigger than a marriage commitment. Anna knew it would be foolish to have joint bank accounts if they weren't one hundred percent sure that they would go the full distance. Tangling money was a messy affair these days, though Anna's parents had shared everything down to the final penny, so the lifestyle was far from unusual to her.

"Let's start looking as soon as possible," he said, breaking through her dreamy thoughts. "It might take us a while to find the perfect home."

"Next weekend?" she suggested. "That gives me time to break the news to Mary."

"Sounds perfect," he said. "I'll buy us some newspapers and we can spend the day browsing online."

She showed him her endorsement of the plan by kissing him enthusiastically, and it wasn't long before they were getting quite carried away. Apparently being asked to move in with someone was a powerful aphrodisiac, Anna thought dreamily later on.

She had hoped that Mary would share that same enthusiasm, but no. She supposed she could understand it, in a way. She knew that Mary was thinking that she was losing her forever, which was certainly not the case. But even so, she had hoped for a little bit more excitement on her behalf.

It still wouldn't stop her.

That weekend, she spent her time sequestered away with John. They sat around his kitchen table, steaming mugs of tea in front of them, poring over ads in the newspapers and scrutinising pictures online. They made a list of properties in the area that they liked the look of, and arranged days when they could go for viewings. After work, before work, at the weekends…

It took them just a few short weeks to find the property that they fell completely in love with.

It was on the outskirts of Downton, standing at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. Four bedroomed. A little out of the price range that they had been looking for, but were told that the owners were open to offers because they wanted to migrate to Australia as soon as possible. It was beautifully kept, with a large drive for anyone visiting, a geneous back garden for any children, and spacious rooms.

They discussed it together, and decided to put in an offer. It was the only thing they could do. No matter how many properties they looked at now, none would come close to this one in their hearts.

They made an offer, were rejected, made another one, and were accepted. It all felt so surreal. John's cottage, quaint and beautiful and idyllic, had been snapped up in a flash. Everything was falling into place.

Mary might have said that it spelled the beginning of the end, but Anna couldn't wait to see what adventures lay in store for them now. And there were so many new ones stretching enticingly ahead of them. They would have to learn how to orbit around each other's personal spaces. They would have to find a new balance between spending time together and making time for their friends. They would have to work out household chores and cooking and grocery shopping.

None of it was daunting to Anna. She couldn't wait for it. Not in the slightest.

* * *

"And here we are," said the estate agent, dangling keys from the end of her fingers. After reams and reams of papers that had to be read and signed, they were finally here. They had a mortgage. The house deeds were in their names. And those were their keys.

Trembling, Anna reached out and grasped them. They felt strange in her hands…the most wonderful kind of strangeness that she had ever known. There were two keys. One for her. And one for John.

 _Their very own keys to the house that they were buying together_.

Beside her, John was grinning like a mad thing. She had never seen an expression quite like that on his face before. It was mesmerising.

"Our house," he said, turning to her, his tone disbelieving. "God, Anna."

Their dream was coming true.

The estate agent saw them to the door, wished them well for the future, and then disappeared back inside, leaving the bell tinkling in her wake. As if walking in a dream, Anna led John further up the street, out of sight of the estate agents', then squealed, launching herself into his arms. His cane clattered to the floor as he caught her around the waist to steady them both. Thankfully, all of their paperwork didn't meet the same fate. Not that she cared. She _couldn't_ bring herself to care. She was just so happy.

"We've got a house," John," she said.

"I know," he replied.

"We can start moving in soon."

"At the end of the month. Then it'll be just you and me."

Just the two of them. Her stomach fluttered. She loved living with Mary. She always had done. But in the last few months she had found it increasingly difficult to say goodbye to John, because although they spent a great deal of time together, it wasn't permanent. It wasn't a proper arrangement. And she had started to feel, a long time before, that the only place she could call home was wherever John was.

They spent the interim weeks filling boxes, deciding what they wanted to carry forward into their new lives and what could be left behind. Anna had a much easier time of it than John. All of her worldly possessions fit into ten boxes. She could fit all of hers in her car in one journey. John needed a delivery van so that the furniture and appliances could be transported to their new address.

"And men always accuse us women of having far more stuff," she teased him one night as they finished packing up yet another box. He made her pay for the comment in the most pleasurable of ways.

And then, just like that, it was time to go. On the last night before the start of her new arrangement, Anna switched off her phone and left it in her bedroom. On this night, Mary was the one who deserved her full and undivided attention. They had planned something quiet, just the two of them. There was plenty of wine in the fridge, and lots of chocolate because it was always a staple comfort food in times of upheaval. They had chosen several movies to get them through the night.

In the end, the movies were unnecessary. They spent the whole time together reminiscing about all of the times they had had, both good and bad. They had been a part of each other's lives since their teenaged years, and had lived together from the moment that Mary had declared herself independent. This was the end of a different kind of era.

There were lots and lots of tears. None of it was helped by the wine. And she _would_ miss living with Mary. She really, really would. She could understand that on some level Mary's apathy to the whole situation was down to her desire not to lose her flatmate. But, in time, those wounds would heal. They would both have happy relationships to foster. It was only natural that she should want to live with her chosen partner, and Anna doubted it would be long before Matthew became a staple around Mary's home.

They would still be best friends for life. Their relationship just had to alter slightly to accommodate this new transition.

And Anna was okay with that.

Or, she acknowledged, she would be when the wine was out of her system and the tears had dried.

* * *

The delivery van had gone; everything, from the largest furniture to the smallest box was now inside the house. Anna stood with John on the driveway outside, staring up at the house. The house that was _theirs_.

"Well," said John, his voice thinly veiled with a mix of anticipation and apprehension, "shall we go inside?"

She nodded, and reached for his hand. He squeezed her fingers in return, and together they walked up the driveway and over the threshold of their front door for the very first time on their own.

They had been here on several occasions, but it still took Anna's breath away. The magnitude of it truly being theirs hit her. They had so much work to do to put their own stamp on it, and she couldn't wait to get started. They had agreed that they would need to put a week's holiday in at work so that they could get themselves straightened out, and now that they were here, a fresh fission of excitement went through her.

John turned to her, a soft smile of his own on his lips, and she could read the eagerness in his eyes.

"So," he said, "where should we start?"

They worked together for the whole afternoon, painstakingly arranging their furniture to their liking and making a start on unpacking the boxes. They stopped only for a quick takeaway tea before carrying on. It was almost eleven o'clock when they decided to call it a night.

Anna wiped sweat away from her forehead. They were nowhere near starting on the upstairs yet, the relevant boxes piled into the spare bedroom, but at least they had made a start. She ferreted around in one of them now and found some of their bed linen.

"We just need to change the bed and then we can go to bed," she said.

"All right," John agreed. They made the bed together in short order. Anna felt John's kindling gaze whenever he looked across at her, and her insides twisted pleasantly. She knew what was coming, and she couldn't wait for it.

Once the bed was made, they took turns freshening up in the bathroom. And then it was finally time to retire.

Anna slid into bed first, sighing as she settled down in the pillows. She watched as John padded around the room one more time, bare-chested, before he too slid into bed. The room was instantly plunged into darkness as he switched off the lamp, and the mattress dipped as he shuffled on it, rolling onto his side to face her.

"So," he said.

"So," she echoed.

"What do we do now?"

His tone was flirty in the darkness, and the touch on her hip was unmistakable. She smirked.

"Well, I was thinking of going to sleep," she said. "It's been a very long day, and we've another long one ahead of us tomorrow."

"Sleep," John mused. "I suppose we could. Or we could do something better."

"Better for you, you mean."

Stupefied silence reigned in the aftermath of her words, and she could imagine the expression on his face, one of mortified horror, if the sounds issuing from his mouth were indication. She lay back, enjoying her success. It was always amusing to take him by surprise. She'd always loved their playful banter, and how it had grown along with their relationship. She knew he would take her comments as they were intended—in jest.

"Has it really come to this?" he said at last. "Do I really not please you anymore?"

"I think there's always room for improvement," she said.

"Oh, yes? And how would I achieve that?"

"By studying hard," she said, tongue firmly in cheek.

"Take guidance from a teacher, so to speak?"

"So to speak."

With a growl, he hefted himself up and over her, pinning her to the mattress. She gave a shriek of laughter, running her hands down his chest, taking care to rake her fingernails over his nipples. He dipped his head to suckle at her neck.

"Well, Miss Smith," he murmured. "Start teaching."

She wriggled as John's mouth travelled further down, caressing her through her thin pyjama top. Her breath caught as he found a breast. Her clothes quickly became superfluous then, and she pushed him away from her just enough to toss the top into some corner of the room before he was back over her, kissing her breathless, encouraging further into the middle of the bed so that he could lay her back down—

Anna gave an instinctive yelp and shot back upright, missing a nasty clash of the heads by the narrowest of margins. John jerked back in surprise, lost his balance, and promptly landed on his backside.

"What is it?" he said urgently, looking about with bewilderment. "Anna, what's wrong?"

Anna pouted, rubbing at her spine. "There's a nasty little spring!"

"What?" he said, blinking.

"A spring from the mattress! Poking up like a little devil! Bleedin' hell, that came keen!"

He pushed back on his haunches, bemused. Anna shuffled away, turning to glower at the spot that had caused her so much pain – not that she could see anything in the dark. Tentatively, she ran her fingers over the mattress, almost immediately coming into contact with the offending spot.

"There!" she exclaimed. "That nasty little bugger."

John reached out too, smoothing his palm along the surface. She guided his hand to hers, slipping hers from underneath so he could feel it for himself.

"Ah," he said.

"Ah? That's all you've got?"

"Well, what else is there to say?" he said. "I'll grant you, it is sharp. It'd give anyone a nasty surprise if it was prodded in their back."

"Well, that's put an end to my plans for the evening," she said, probably more grumpily than the situation warranted.

"What?" said John. _That_ certainly seemed to have got his attention. "Can't we work around it?"

"How? It's right in the middle of the bed. Unless you want to go on the bottom? I'd have no objections to that. And then you can jolly well grin and bear it while it's stabbed in your back."

John huffed. "Fine. Let's do it." He shuffled onto his back. Anna arched an eyebrow at him.

"You're sure?" she said.

"Of course," he said. "I survived a bullet. I think I can survive a spring."

"If you say so," she said, and knew he'd hear the challenging lilt in her tone.

"I do say so," he replied, and she knew that she'd won. She swung herself over him, leaning down until she could brush her lips just slightly against his.

"Right, Mr. Bates," she murmured. "Let's see what you're made of."

* * *

Bright and early the next morning found Anna and John inside a bed shop.

One of the sales assistants, an eager young boy, bounded up to them. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Not quite yet," said John firmly. "We'll give you a shout if we want anything. Thank you."

He put his arm at Anna's back and ushered her further inside.

"That was rather unkind," she commented as they read the sign for double beds and headed towards the selection.

"I didn't mean to be. But, honestly, you know what sales assistants are like. Always breathing down your neck, stalking your every footstep, pushing their noses in to offer so-called expert advice, putting you off making any kind of decision…"

His grumblings continued, and Anna stifled a giggle. What was it with men and their dislike of asking anyone else for advice?

The double beds were right at the back of the store, which was currently deserted. Anna slipped her hand into John's and guided him down one of the little aisles, where beds were displayed all in a row. Each one had a little card with it, with a short description of the kind of mattress that it was and what it could offer a potential buyer. God, when had so many of them sprung up? They were spoiled for choice.

John, of course, didn't seem to like this. He glowered round at all of them as if they had personally affronted him with their sophistication.

"Honestly," he griped, "how many of these really need to exist? As long as you can lie on it, that's good enough for anyone. I slept on the ground sometimes when I was in the army, and it never did me any harm."

Anna tsked. "You were saying something very different last night, John. It's no good pretending to be the image of masculinity now. You had a worse time on that dreadful thing than I did!" Their night of passionate, enthusiastic lovemaking had been cut short when Anna had ground down on him in the heat of the moment and had been met by the loudest of yelps. The devil spring had struck again, and despite what he had announced, John hadn't been able to cope with it any better than she had.

He had the grace to look a little embarrassed then. "Yes, well, that was different."

Amused, she simply shook her head. "Never mind. Come on, let's take a look at this one."

She pointed it out to him—she liked the sound of a pocket spring mattress, she had to admit—but rather than bending closer to inspect the card, John rounded one side of the bed.

And promptly sprawled himself out along the length of it.

Anna was sure that her eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline. "What on earth ae you doing!?"

"Testing the bed," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, to be fair, but she could still hardly wrap her head around it.

"John, get up!" she hissed.

"There's no rule against testing the beds," he pointed out. "If there was, then there would be some snooty note reminding us not to sit on them."

"But no one else is doing it," she said, chancing a glance around the rest of the almost deserted store.

"Then they're missing out. Come on, Anna, join me. How else will we pick the perfect mattress for our first home if we don't test which ones we like?"

He did have a point. And when he looked at her like that, with those puppy dog eyes…

"All right," she sighed. "But if someone takes offence, I'm leaving you to deal with the consequences."

"Deal," he said. "Now, what do you think of this one?"

And, with a tug on her wrist that she simply wasn't expecting, he brought her tumbling down to the bed beside him. She squealed a little, and he put his hand over her mouth.

"Well, there's being subtle and there's drawing attention to ourselves," he grumbled. "Honestly, Anna, if you carry on like that then they'll all come running to see what the matter is."

"And they'll see me in need of rescuing from your attempts to lead me astray," she said, and he rolled his eyes.

"I think you'll find it was the other way around, dear," he said.

Anna's mouth fell open. "It was not!"

"Oh, no? Who kissed whom first?"

Anna felt her cheeks redden. "That's hardly the point!" But, really, it was: she had indeed been the one to kiss John Bates first. They had been friends before lovers, very good friends. The best of friends, really. They had gelled right from their first meeting, and bit by bit Anna had found herself falling further and further in love with his quiet, unassuming demeanour. Unfortunately, that quiet, unassuming demeanour stretched to all corners of his life. He had been in the throes of a messy divorce when she had met him, but even when it had been finalised, he had shown no outward interest in wanting to date anyone again. Sometimes, in unguarded moments, she had thought she had seen flickers of desire in him. There would be charged moments when the silence would linger just a touch too long, when his gaze would flicker to her lips before he realised what he was doing and hastily averted his eyes…there were moments when their hands touched for just a second longer than they would under ordinary platonic rules; they walked just a fraction too close for it not to be hinting at a yearning for more.

Egged on by Mary, who swore blind that John did have feelings for her and he was just too shy to say anything, she took the bull by the proverbial horns and planted a kiss right on his mouth.

They'd never looked back since.

Oh, they'd had their fair share of ups and downs, even right from the start. John had still tried to insist that he wasn't good enough for her, that she should go to sleep and dream of a better man, and she couldn't even think on their encounters with Vera, John's awful ex-wife, without shuddering. But, bit by bit, they had fought their way through the trials, and she knew that it had made them even stronger. All of those hardships had led them to where they were now, on the brink of total happiness beyond anything they had ever known before.

Smiling now, Anna pushed her face into the cotton of John's shirt, breathing in his scent. He moved his arm up around her.

"All right," she said, her voice muffled, "You win."

She heard the smile in his own voice as he pressed his mouth to the crown of her head. "It's about time, isn't it?"

Smart arse.

They made their way around the store, sitting down on the mattresses that appealed to them and lying down on the ones that they really liked. This current one seemed to be the perfect combination of everything they were looking for.

"I like this one," Anna murmured, snuggling back against John's warmth.

"It is nice," he agreed. "I like the way that it contorts to us. I think it would be very comfortable after certain…exercise."

"Mr. Bates!" she said, trying to sound shocked. "That kind of talk is beneath you."

"Is it?" he said, aiming for an airy tone, the cad. "There's something that I wish _was_ beneath me."

That did it. He really was incorrigible. Anna tried to wriggle away from him, but he caught her around the waist with his strong arm and pulled her back against him.

"And where do you think you're going?" he murmured.

"Away from you," she said, wriggling more pointedly.

"I don't think so."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You're going to stay here with me."

"And how are you going to make me do that?" she asked.

A grin unfurled across his lips. She realised her mistake too late. He always responded to her challenges. It was part of their flirty banter. Under normal circumstances, it excited her, but here…

Here, she decided that she didn't care either when he moved closer to her and captured her mouth in a kiss so sweet that it almost made her melt into the mattress. Even despite herself, she found herself responding to that mouth. He would always be her weakness.

Someone cleared their throat behind her.

Startled, she pulled away, rolling over most ungraciously as she turned to look at the newcomer. She could feel her cheeks burning.

One of the store's employees stood there blinking at them, as if he had never quite imagined he would ever see a sight so scandalous in real life.

"I'm afraid if you're not going to buy, you're going to have to leave," he said, sounding terrified that he was the one who had to have this uncomfortable conversation with them.

John's cheeks had gone bright pink, but that was the only outward sign of his fluster. "Oh, no, I think we've decided to buy, haven't we, Anna?"

She flashed to the future, to the fun they would have making love on this mattress, and felt herself burn hotter. "I think we're in agreement on this, yes."

* * *

"Hand me that, will you?"

"What, this?" said John, indicating the ladle that was hanging up on its newly appointed place on the wall. Anna nodded, holding her hand out for it, and he passed it to her. She dipped it into the simmering pan of soup, testing its consistency.

This was what she had dreamed of for so long now. Having a little kitchen of her own where she could prepare meals for her boyfriend and, in time, she hoped, a family of their own. This was just the first meal in their new home, and she was determined to do it in style. She had decided on a three course banquet, and absolutely nothing could dissuade her from what she wanted. She had popped out to the local supermarket earlier to gather all of the ingredients whilst John put the finishing touches to the kitchen area. Now everything was set out how they wanted it to be, she hadn't been able to wait getting started. John had been her eager assistant cook. He wasn't the most proficient himself, though he did try his hardest, bless him, and was happy to be led in this matter. It had led to a most enjoyable evening together in the kitchen, flitting around each other. Anna enjoyed the chance to boss him about a little, too. The way that he jumped to fulfil her every request was rather endearing.

They had set the table to reflect the romantic, casual atmosphere of the whole evening. Candles took centre stage, casting a relaxing ambiance over the whole vicinity. John had produced the most clichéd bag of rose petals and sprinkled them over the table top. They had laid the places adjacent to each other, so it would be possible to reach out and hold hands, else exchange bites with ease. Anna was very pleased with their efforts.

"The soup's done," she announced. "Can you get the bowls out of the oven?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, taking up the oven gloves dutifully. He retrieved them and placed them on the side, and she filled them to the brim.

"Take the bread over to the table," she ordered. The lumps were a little bit misshapen—cutting a baguette clearly wasn't his strong suit—but he looked so proud of his handiwork that she simply didn't have the heart to tease him about it. She followed him with the steaming soup, he pulled her chair out for her, and they tucked in.

It really was delicious. Wanting to make the evening stick out in their minds, Anna had gone round to Beryl Patmore asking for some advice. The older woman, who was a gourmet cook in her own right, had done more than that. She had provided very precise recipes, and they were reaping the rewards of her expertise now. She had never tasted soup so creamy. It boded very well for the main course and dessert.

When they had finished, John took the dishes over to the sink and turned around, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. "So now what?"

Now you wait for me to give you the next commands," she said.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help you?"

"Quite sure."

He pouted, leaning against the counter while she pored over the instructions. This part, Beryl had told her, required precision. If she took her eyes off it for even a moment, everything could go wrong. That was the last thing she wanted to happen. Diligence and concentration were key.

In her periphery, she saw John pick up a skillet and twirl it in his fingers.

"Don't do that," she said grumpily.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, replacing it. "Are you sure I can't do anything to help?"

"No, that's fine. Just stand there being pretty. You're very good at that."

He snorted. "Hardly what I would say. You, on the other hand…"

"Don't you go trying to sweet talk me just now, John Bates!" she exclaimed as he pushed off from the counter and padded towards her.

"I wasn't going to," he said innocently.

"My eye you weren't. I know how you work, John. Keep two feet away from me at all times, please."

"But that would be such a waste," he murmured. She could feel the warmth of him, right behind her. He slid his arm around her waist, cradling her, pulling her towards him.

"Don't," she said weakly, but she couldn't stop her reflexive impulse to tilt her head to one side when he swept her hair away from her neck and began to pepper soft kisses there.

"Don't what?" he said. "Don't stop?"

"There won't be any dinner to have," she warned him breathlessly.

"Maybe I feel like skipping straight to dessert."

"John, put me down. I mean it. This is the first time that we've cooked in our own home. I don't want anything to spoil it."

"Nothing could spoil it," he said, but released her reluctantly. Anna smoothed down the front of her dress.

"Thank you," she said. "Now go back to doing nothing, please. I have important work to do here."

"I can think of other important work for you to do too," he muttered.

She glanced over her shoulder, fixing him with a glare. "Behave yourself, or I won't be putting out tonight."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "All right, you win. I'll go over here and admire the view."

"Thank you." Anna turned back to the stove and prodded the steaks, gauging the status. She turned on the gas ring beneath the second pan for the creamy mushroom sauce, and set about chopping potatoes for homemade chips. Everything was going smoothly until she asked John to pass her another knife. He did so, sidling over to inhale what was cooking.

"That smells good," he told her, his eyes closed in appreciation.

She jabbed him teasingly with her elbow. "Are you hinting that what I usually cook isn't very good?"

"Of course not," he said. "You cook wonderful meals. It's me who's the disaster in this vicinity."

"Nice save," she told him, offering him a cube of cheese. He leaned over her shoulder, lips brushing her fingers as he accepted it. She tried to suppress a shiver. Now was not the time. In reality, she was no Mrs. Patmore when it came to cooking, and she was damned if John's wandering hands were going to beat her. She returned her attention to the stove while John remained behind her, nuzzling into her.

"Remember what I said," she warned him.

He hummed against her, nuzzling further into her neck. She rolled her eyes. It was a bit inconvenient, but she supposed she wouldn't stop him this time. After all, it did feel rather nice. And she did like to be loved.

Eventually, she was finished, and John helped her to plate their spoils up. He carried them to the table while she refreshed their glasses—water for him, of course, but a rare bottle of wine for her was more than needed—and they spent another enjoyable half hour eating together, John declaring over and over that this was the best thing he had ever tasted. Anna suspected that he had his own agenda for being so flattering—she had tasted his mother's cooking, and that put her own to shame—but any kind of praise was nice, and she wasn't about to turn it away.

They let their meal settle for a few minutes when they were done before Anna pushed her chair away from the table.

"Right, dessert," she said. "Let me get to it."

John stood too. "Let me help this time. Please."

"And allow you to distract me even more? I don't think so."

"Dessert happens to be my speciality, I'll have you know."

"Your idea of a dessert is usually a tub of ice cream from the supermarket."

"You never complain. I know you like it. Now stop being so uptight. Would it help if I swore to keep my hands to myself all of the time?"

"It might," she said, then relented. "Oh, all right. You can start melting the chocolate while I check the pastry."

He nodded, retrieving the chocolate from the fridge and a bowl to place over boiling water. He broke the chocolate into large chunks and placed them in the bowl. The steam from the water would get it to melt, and he had a spoon at the ready so that he could give it an encouraging stir. The sight was rather mesmerising, and Anna had to tear her gaze away from him lest she get distracted by his hands. They were hands of many talents, as she had discovered for herself over and over again.

Besides, she had a task of her own to complete. The pastry had already been shaped into two little individual pies, and she popped them in the oven to bake for ten minutes until they were a golden brown.

"Is the chocolate ready?" she asked.

"It certainly is."

"Bring it over here."

He did so dutifully, standing behind her as she began pouring the gooey concoction into the base of each pastry.

"That looks so good," he growled, nibbling at her neck.

"Are you sure you're talking about the pudding?"

"Well…" His voice trailed off suggestively, and his tongue darted out to taste her skin. She shivered.

"Down, boy," she said.

"I'm not doing anything. Look." He took hold of a table spoon that was sitting on the side and looped his arm through hers so he could reach the bowl for himself. He began guiding the excess chocolate from the bowl's edge out into the middle of one of the tarts, smoothing it over so that it had a flawless surface. "There we go."

"Thanks," she said grudgingly; she didn't entirely trust him. "Now we need to put them in the fridge. We can start tidying the kitchen and let our tea settle."

"Good idea," he agreed. "But before we do that we need to clean the bowl."

"What?"

"Isn't that the first rule of baking? You get to lick the bowl out if it's something really delicious like chocolate?"

"When you're about five, maybe."

"I'm still young at heart. I have to be, because I'm not young anywhere else."

"John," she said reprovingly. She most certainly didn't want to start him on that again. "All right, you win. Give me that spoon."

But he held it away from her. "I have a better idea."

"Why doesn't that sound reassuring?"

"It will," he said. "Come here."

Without further ado, he tossed the spoon to one side, where it clattered over the worktop leaving a messy trail of melted chocolate behind, and dipped his first two fingers into the chocolate that remained in the bowl.

Anna's mouth went dry. Against her own volition, she turned to watch him.

Seemingly oblivious to her suddenly soaring temperature, John brought his hand to his mouth and licked the digits clean.

God.

Hs eyes closed in appreciation. "Nothing beats this chocolate melted, you know. Try some."

"I'm all right," she managed, her voice coming out thick and low.

John's eyes opened. She couldn't seem to find the strength or the state of mind to look away.

"I insist," he said, his tone all sexy gravel. She was almost lightheaded as he returned his fingers to the bowl and scooped up more chocolate. Automatically, she leaned out. He brought his hand enticingly close. She grabbed his wrist and brought his hand closer to her mouth. Defeated. With a whimper, she brought his fingers into her mouth.

The chocolate just added another layer of sexual tension to the situation. In reality, she knew it had been coming to this at some point. The whole atmosphere between them was just too combustible for anything else to occur. And now, with the way that John was staring at her greedily as she sucked all traces of chocolate from his fingers, she felt naughty. As sinful as the chocolate she was tasting in her mouth.

The same thoughts seemed to be flashing through John's mind. His eyes had gone the colour of coal, and he brought his spare hand to the back of her neck, angling her head up to his. She let his fingers slide from her mouth and reached up on her tiptoes, grasping fistfuls of his shirt. Who was she kidding, really? There was no point in trying to deny it any longer. It had been true all evening. Simmering.

Even then, she couldn't let go entirely without trying to save a little bit of face.

"Dessert," she managed.

"It's not ready yet," he pointed out. "We've got ages yet."

"But we said we'd tidy the kitchen."

"We've got all the time in the world for that later," he murmured. "It's not as if the rest of the house is spic and span yet, is it?"

He did have a point there. He moved in to kiss her again, and she capitulated entirely, clinging to him tighter as his tongue met hers.

Damn. She hated it when he was right.

But right he was. This dessert could wait. Clumsily, she pulled away from him, and practically shoved it into the fridge.

Now was the time to enjoy a very different sort of dessert.

* * *

It had taken many weeks of hard work, but they finally had their house in order.

 _Their_ house. Anna was still getting used to the notion.

It looked lovely, even if it was prideful to say so. They had put their own stamp on the place. They had painted the walls and brought in their own furniture. Changed that infernal bed.

And now the hard work was over, and they could simply enjoy the fruits of their labour. As Anna gazed around at the newly painted hallway, it truly hit her then.

"Are you all right?" John murmured in her ear.

She managed to nod. Yes, she was all right. She had never been more all right.

"It looks lovely, doesn't it?" she said, and was a little embarrassed by the waver in her voice.

He stepped up close behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Yes, it does."

She relaxed against him, closing her eyes. "I almost feel like we should do something to commemorate finally being finished."

"Like what? Me carrying you over the threshold?"

"That's more for a bride and groom," she said, the promise of it lingering in the air between them for a moment before John pressed a shy kiss to her neck, as if in acknowledgement that one day he would indeed do that. "I was thinking of something a little bit simpler."

"Care to divulge?"

She slipped out of his arms and crooked her finger for him to follow her to the foot of the stairs. He did so, looking up at them with a smirk on his face.

"I like what you're thinking," he said. "And it's the perfect way to celebrate."

"Actually, I wasn't thinking of that," she said, and giggled as his face fell a little. "Honestly, is your mind always in the gutter?"

"You can hardly blame me," he argued good-naturedly. "I have a very beautiful girlfriend."

"Oh, hush. Now come here."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and stood as high as she could on her tiptoes. Some people disliked differences in height; she had always loved theirs. Somehow, being in his looming presence made her feel safe in a way that no one else had ever made her feel before. She loved having to crane her neck up towards him, the way that he had to lean right down to meet her. She loved how low he had to stoop if he wanted to bury his head in her neck, and how high she had to teeter on her tiptoes to achieve the same. She knew that he felt the same way about their height discrepancy as she did, though he often teased her about her small stature. She didn't mind in the slightest. It was done in the most affectionate way possible.

Maintaining eye contact with him for a moment longer, she pressed her mouth to his. It was a ghost of a kiss, really, just enough for him to feel her grazing her mouth against his and long for more. From the way that he tightened his hold on her, she knew that she'd succeeded. Before he could try to pull her closer and deepen the kiss, she retracted back to her heels. He pouted.

"You certainly know how to tease a man, Miss Smith," he said. "You are a cruel woman."

"I'm not cruel," she said. "That was just a warm up. Look."

She gestured at the staircase, taking a moment to gaze up at it. She and Mary had lived in a flat together. The only stairs inside were the kind that any sane person avoided at all cost, because they were endless and by the time the top was reached the life had been sucked out of the individual. Anna had made that mistake only once, when the lift had been broken, and it had been one of the worst experiences of her life. They had arrived at the flat in a state of collapse, she covered in sweat, and Mary sure that she was about to have a heart attack.

Mary had soon made sure that the lift was fixed.

John had had a short flight of stairs in his dear little cottage, but the ceiling was so low that he had to stoop to ascend them, and that hadn't lent itself very well to what she had in mind.

These stairs were perfect.

Taking his hand, she ascended the first couple of stairs, until she was within a centimetre of John's own towering form. He was staring right into her eyes now, and she lowered her lashes, playing coy.

"What do you have in mind?" he murmured again.

"This," she whispered, and leaned forward to take him into her arms once more. Being on the same level as him made it much easier to kiss him, and she wound her arms tight around his neck. As the kiss became more enthusiastic, he wrapped his around her waist, at the perfect level with his now. She felt his lashes fluttering against her face as he pushed as close as he could, his mouth moving against hers with careful passion. It melted her insides. She was the one who was supposed to be in control, but somehow he turned her to mush every time.

After a time—could have been two minutes, could have been twenty—she pulled away from him, a little dazed. She was sure that his expression was a mirror of her own.

"So that was how you wanted to mark this occasion?" he said, his voice a little shaky.

She hummed, pressing a kiss to his neck. "We've never kissed on stairs before. It always looks so romantic in the movies."

"And did it live up to your expectations?"

"It certainly did. What about yours?"

"Definitely," he said, and they lost themselves in another long, dreamy kiss. She pulled away again, rubbing her nose against his.

"Do you prefer it?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

She gestured. "Us being of a similar height. It's not quite as taxing on the back, is it?"

He blinked, then threw back his head and chuckled. "Are you being serious?"

"More curious," she said.

"Then you're as much the silly beggar as you believe me to be."

"I am woefully short. I've often wished I was taller myself." Next to Mary, she had practically been in the shadows, and more often than not, men's eyes had swept over her as they followed Mary eagerly around the room, dreaming of the model's stature that she hid beneath her clothes.

"I don't."

She kissed him again, a short, sweet peck. "You don't have to say such things for my benefit, you know."

"Oh, I'm not," he said. "It's true. I find your stature very, very attractive, Miss Smith. I enjoy our height difference very much. More than our age difference, anyway."

"Don't start with that again," she scolded. "You know I don't have a single care for our age difference. Age is a silly way of measuring compatibility with someone."

"If you say so, dear."

"I do. Now come on."

That adorable little frown creased his brow. "Come where?"

"Let's just say that your admiration for my usual height has had a most intriguing effect on me. I suddenly find that my mind is in the gutter," she said, tipping him a wink over her shoulder, and he practically stumbled up the stairs after her.

* * *

It had taken a bit of persuasion, but Anna had finally managed it. John had grumbled for days about her proposal, but eventually he had relented and consented.

So here they were.

"Another drink, Cora?" she asked politely, nodding at her empty glass.

"Oh, you've twisted my arm," said Cora, holding out said arm. Anna suspected that she'd already had the one too many, but it was all in the name of being a good host. This was her very first time throwing a party all of her own, and she was determined to do a good job. There was enough food to feed an army and enough drink to keep all the drunks in Yorkshire drunk. The gathering was small, but she'd tried to ensure that she was splitting her time equally between all of their guests. Cora made it look so easy when she was hosting those huge, upscale parties at Downton Abbey, and Anna had an even greater respect for her now that she had tried to run one herself. She wasn't cut out to do this on a regular basis, no matter how much she enjoyed socialising with their nearest and dearest, and John wasn't any help to her in this respect. She knew that he'd agreed to it for her rather than for him and, after greeting each of the guests, was alternating between trying to blend into the walls and seeking refuge with the men, who were more interested in talking football than talking home.

Now that Cora's glass was once more filled to the brim, the wine bottle was empty. That would need to be rectified immediately. Nodding to Cora and silently praying that she didn't spill anything on their brand new carpet, Anna ducked back towards the kitchen, intent on restocking her supply.

The kitchen was blissfully empty when she arrived. The table, groaning under so much party food, had been absolutely ransacked, as if a swarm of locusts had passed through the room and devoured everything in sight. She couldn't think about the mess that they'd have to clean up later without shuddering. But despite all that, the Crawleys were her extended family, and their rowdiness brought an extra spark to the room. She could hear Sybil shrieking with laughter, no doubt over something that Tom, her new boyfriend, had said. She made her way over to the fridge to check on the supplies that they still had left. Pulling open the door, she relished the coolness on her skin for a moment. The heat of mingling in a confined space with so many people was finally catching up to her. It was nice to have these few brief moments alone.

"Ah, Anna, there you are."

Well, that was that. Silly to think that there was such a thing as a minute to be had when the Crawleys were around. Smiling to herself, Anna turned to find Mary in the doorway.

"Here I am," she said, pulling a bottle out of the fridge and inspecting its label before unscrewing the lid.

"I've not seen you for _hours_."

And there was Mary, always with the exaggeration, especially when it suited her. Likely she hadn't even noticed her absence. She had Matthew hanging onto her every word, and usually having a man in that position was more than enough to blindside her for a while.

"I've been networking," said Anna. "Isn't that what you always tell me I need to do?"

"Yes, but that's when you're joined at the hip with John, looking like you're going to scurry off for a good snogging session at any point. Not when _I_ want to see you."

"Oh, charming," came a raspy voice behind them, and Anna's heart soared at once. Both she and Mary turned to find John in the doorway, filling the frame so deliciously with his height and his breadth. "So I'm to be cast aside like yesterday's worn laundry, but heaven forfend that Lady Mary Crawley be given the same treatment?"

"Sisters before misters," Mary shot back without missing a beat. "I'm sorry, John, but it's only natural that I have first dibs. I've known her for longer, and I'm her best friend."

"Yes, but I'm chief bed warmer," John countered good-naturedly. "I'd say that that counts for a lot in Anna's eyes."

"I don't have trouble keeping warm in bed anymore," she conceded with a grin.

Mary wrinkled her nose. "Too much information."

Anna snorted. "How is that anything like too much information? I wasn't alluding to sex in any way, shape, or form."

"Even so, it's better to be on the safe side. I don't want to be in any danger of having those kinds of images in my head."

"Whereas it's all right for me to have to hear about the exact shape of Matthew's abs?"

"That's different," said Mary. "Matthew is a dreamboat."

"I _am_ still standing here, you know," John groused.

"And you have nothing to worry about," Anna said cheerfully. "Matthew isn't my kind of dreamboat. I like my man with a bit of meat on his bones, and proper hair on his chest. None of this little boy shaving thing."

"Well, this is quickly descending into a slanging match," Mary said dryly, snatching the wine bottle from her hands to top up her own glass. "And here I was, just wanting a nice chat."

"You were the one who started it."

"I'm never going to win with you two, am I? You're so sweet it's utterly sickening."

John grinned, limping across to stand by her side, slinging his arm around her shoulder and pulling her tight to his side. She wrapped her own arm around his waist and looked up into his face.

"I think you're right there, Mary," she said dreamily. When it came to John, she had a host of answers ready to defend him against anyone who might try to put him down, even in a teasing sense. She was well used to it by now, unfortunately. She knew that people stared at them in the streets, wondering what they were doing together. Her own family had been cautious to say the least when she had first introduced him to them. They had expected to see her settle down with some up-and-coming hotshot her own age, who was likely to live the high life and go through a mid-life crisis at thirty, culminating in him shagging his secretary. John was a long way from their projected ideal. The age gap had made them uncomfortable. They'd stared at his limp. Had winced in horror when they'd heard that he was in the last throes of a messy divorce. Had been even more horrified to discover the short stint in prison. Then there was the fact that he was an ex-alcoholic, smoked…Anna had endured countless hours of her family's warnings about him as time and time again they'd failed to see just how good he was for her. That was the John of the past, she'd tried to drill into their skulls. The John of the past had made huge mistakes. The John of today was forever trying to atone for them, had shown incredible strength of character to turn his life around and separate himself from toxic situations.

She had been a little worried that it would be too much for John, the rejection. She'd worried that he would start to see it as a sign that they shouldn't be together, and that he would sever all ties for good based on that poisonous urge he had to always see the worst of himself. Thankfully, her worrying had been for nothing. She had seen the question of it in his eyes sometimes, but he had remained steadfastly by her side, an unmovable oak in a fearsome gale.

"I want to prove them wrong," he'd told her one night. "Not in an incendiary way. But I want to prove to them that despite what they might think and how they might be right, I can be good for you."

"You don't need to prove that to anyone," she'd replied. "You _are_ the right man, whether they want to see that or not."

"But that's the point," he said. "I know you think that already. But I don't want to cause a rift between you and your family. I want them to like me if they can. Or at least think that I will do whatever is in my power to be good for you."

"They will," Anna had reassured him. "Just give it a bit of time. You'll see."

And so they had. It had been a gradual process, but they had got there in the end. There was a lot of respect on both sides now, which Anna was grateful for. Her parents were currently in the Maldives, and her sister was on a nightshift, otherwise they all would have been here to share in their first experience of hosting their own party.

In the present, Mary rolled her eyes and bent down towards one of the lower cupboards.

"What are you looking for?" John said at once.

Mary paused, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "A bowl for more crisps. Is that a crime or something?"

"There aren't any in there," said John.

"John, every woman in the world keeps bowls in a cupboard like this one. And I've lived with Anna for longer than you have. I know her idiosyncrasies."

"No, I really don't think you should go in there," said John.

"John's right," Anna said quickly. "They're not in there."

Unfortunately, this only seemed to stoke Mary's curiosity further. "All right, why are you two acting so strangely? What's in here? Are you hiding a dead body or something?"

"Don't—" Anna started, moving forward, but she was too slow. With a decisive flick, Mary pulled open the cupboard door and went down on her haunches to peer into its depths. Anna fell back to John's side. She felt her boyfriend tense up, and she bit her tongue to hold back an expletive, crossing her fingers. Perhaps Mary wouldn't notice—

But that wasn't to be. Frowning, Mary turned her head to the side, reaching out to snag the piece of paper discreetly sellotaped to the inside of the cupboard door.

"What's this?" she said.

"Nothing," Anna said quickly, moving forward to snatch it out of her hands. Mary held it away from her.

"It must be a little more than nothing if you're going to act like that," she said. "Let me take a look."

"It's not necessary," said John, starting forward on her other side. "Give it here, Mary."

But the younger woman merely narrowed her eyes at them and turned her attention to the paper.

"What do we have here?" she said. "Sofa. Coffee table. Chair." She glanced up. "Why are you freaking out about this? It's just a list of furniture."

Anna was determined not to look in John's direction. To do so would be madness. She'd lose her composure in a heartbeat. "We just wanted to keep it private, that's all. They're just preliminary discussions right now."

"About what? The kind of furniture you want to buy?"

"Yes," said John, his voice wavering.

"Why are some of them crossed out?"

"We've changed our minds about replacing them."

Mary looked closer. "Hang on a minute…kitchen counter? Bathtub? Shower? The wall? What on earth is this!?"

"We've told you: ideas for our home—"

But an increasingly telling look of horror was spreading across Mary's face. She glanced between them, rather pale, then threw the paper at them with dramatic repugnance, as if it was contagious.

"Eww!" she squealed. "Oh, that's disgusting!"

"Keep your voice down!" Anna hissed, glancing over her shoulder frantically to ensure that they were still alone. John bent down to retrieve the paper, stuffing it hastily in his pocket.

"You didn't see anything, all right?" he said. "It will save us all some embarrassment."

"I _wish_ I hadn't seen anything!" Mary moaned, burying her face in her hands. "Oh, God, I thought that was just a myth! Why, why, _why_ would you document it and then leave the evidence lying around? You've scarred me for life! I'll never be able to look at either of you again without breaking out in a cold sweat! My skin's crawling just thinking about it."

"It's not as bad as all that, thank you very much," Anna said, affronted. Honestly, her friend could be so theatrical. All right, she understood her point of view a little, but it was still rather rich coming from her when she consistently forced facts that Anna would rather not know onto her without taking into consideration whether she would actually like to hear them or not.

Mary wrinkled her nose. "If you say so. Personally, I'd rather not know where you're doing all your shagging in this house. It's enough to put me off. Now I feel sick at the mere thought of taking anything else from the buffet table because if I do I'll just have images of John's—"

" _Thank_ you, Mary," John said loudly, his cheeks going pink.

She huffed. "Christening the place, I ask you. That's so revoltingly clichéd."

"Wait until you move in with Matthew," said Anna. "I'm sure you'll be singing from a different hymn sheet then."

"I don't think so. I, unlike you, have some class."

Yeah. Right. Anna rolled her eyes, trying her best to appear unfazed. "Well, if you're quite finished, I think you should return to the party. People will be wondering where we are."

"Good idea," her friend agreed. "I've lost my appetite, anyway. Alcohol is what I need. I need it to drown out the images that are blinding me."

With that, she flounced past them. Shaking her head, Anna retrieved the wine and filled her glass, right up to the rim, on Mary's command. The younger woman took a huge glug and marched out of the room as if she had been affronted with something extremely offensive and not by a harmless, if awkward, list.

When she was gone, John scrubbed a hand down his face.

"Do you think she'll say anything?" he asked. "Christ, I'm having waking nightmares of Robert finding out already."

"I don't think she will," Anna reasoned. "She was quite clearly mortified by the idea that we have a sex life. With anything else, I'm sure she would have been the first one to goad us, but she certainly doesn't like talking about that sort of thing when the attention isn't on her. And, well, you've almost been a godfather to her over the years. I'm sure the last thing she wants to think about is you having an active sex life."

"Oh, thanks."

"Hey, don't sound so grumpy. You ought to take it as a godsend. You've probably spared our blushes. If I was sleeping with any other man, I don't think I would have been given the same courtesy."

"I don't want to think about you sleeping with another man," he said grumpily.

"Stop being so woe-is-me. We're here together, aren't we? You should know that I'm loyal to a fault. There's no better man for me than you."

She knew it was imperative to keep his old insecurities at bay. Although he worked hard every day at containing them, it was easy for them to slip through the net. She needed to be the crutch, the comforting reassurance that she was happy so that he kept on fighting his demons. She slipped her arm around his waist and snuggled into him.

"I know which side my bread is buttered," she said. "And I'm sure I've become one of those smug, conceited women that think that the world is their oyster because they've got everything they could possibly wish for." She nuzzled her face into his chest. "It helps that I've got a real man in the bedroom. No one else could ever make me feel as smugly well-loved as you do."

John visibly brightened at that, and she had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes in loving exasperation. Why was it that men always cheered up the moment that their egos were stroked?

"Come on," she said. "Let's return to the party. And after it's done…well, the possibilities are endless."

"Do you think we might take another look at a certain list?" John's voice was visceral, like warm honey, dripping over her body and making her shiver all over.

"I don't see why not," she said, hoping she didn't sound as unsteady as she felt. He pulled it out of his pocket, smoothing it out so they could both peruse the meticulous list they had made together. Anna's eyes slid over the precise slants in John's handwriting, until her gaze came to a stop on one particularly intriguing idea.

"How about this?" she said, pointing it out.

John swallowed hard. "Deal."

"Good," she said. "Now, let's get back to the others."

John stuffed the paper back in his pocket and followed her with more enthusiasm than he had shown all evening.

* * *

It was the first time that they had been parted since moving in together. Anna had enjoyed herself immensely on her mini-break away with the girls, but it wasn't the same as it had been when she was younger, when she was free of other cares and responsibilities. She hadn't really missed her ex-boyfriend all that much when she had jetted off on her first girls' holiday after her A-Levels before university and another three years of hard work had beckoned.

With John…it was simply an entirely different matter. They were a part of one another in a way that she had often thought simply didn't exist. She had missed him so much in their time apart, and although they had communicated with each other every day in some small manner, it just wasn't the same. He had encouraged her to have a good time, and she had, but she didn't feel the same pang of sadness at returning home as the other girls had because she was returning home to the love of her life.

She threw her arms around him on the threshold when she got home late that night, and kissed him enthusiastically. His stubble scratched her cheeks in a comforting manner, and she breathed in the warm smell of his aftershave.

"You look good," John told her, eyeing her appreciatively. "You've got a nice tan."

"You know how those days are, Mr. Bates. Party hard through the night, sleep the day away on a sunbed."

He pulled her closer, his hands scandalously low on her too-short shorts, white to show off her tan. "Well, I'm certainly reaping the rewards now."

She kept him at bay as he leaned down for another kiss, mindful of their position on the stoop. They hadn't been here long enough to scandalise the neighbours in such a fashion, and there was plenty of time for all of that later.

"And how have you been?" she asked him as she smoothed her hands down the front of his t-shirt.

"You know I've missed you madly every minute of every day," he said.

"And have you been eating well?"

"Well enough."

"Which means you've had takeaway every night, doesn't it?"

He blushed, the giveaway. "I've been working late. It was easier than trying to cook."

"Honestly, how did you cope before I came along?"

"I didn't," he said simply.

"I'll never want to leave you again if you're going to waste away. And it's not even like you can't cook. You like to do it for me."

"You can hardly call them culinary masterpieces. Besides, I like making the effort for you."

"You're going to have to start making an effort for yourself, too." She patted his stomach pointedly, which earned her a pout. "But enough of that now. Help me inside with the cases."

He did so dutifully, then ushered her into the sitting room while he made her a cup of tea. She sank down onto the sofa and closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over her. Home sweet home. It was so nice to be back here, in such familiar, comforting surroundings. She'd probably had her last mad holiday. Realistically, she was growing out of them now. Nights out drinking and socialising were fun, but doing the same thing for a straight week was more torturous than pleasurable to her these days. It didn't help that most of her friends were younger, and were still pursuing the single life. She was thirty next, and in the next few years would—touch wood—hopefully be settled down with a family of her own. Her dreams had changed. It wasn't a bad thing. But it did mean that her wavelength had gone beyond drinking as much of her own body weight as she could stand and having a drunken fumble with someone on the dancefloor. Her friends would carry on without her. She would be happy to stay at home with her man, and enjoy having little outings with him instead.

After the tea, she stretched.

"Bed, I think," she said. "It's been a long day."

John nodded, rising to clear their mugs away. "Head on up. I'm just going to get the washing out of the washing machine ready to be hung on the line in the morning."

"Aren't you the domesticated sort," she cooed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"You tamed the wildness in me, dear," he intoned, rubbing her back. "I'll see you soon."

Nodding, Anna headed up the stairs. She would begin to unpack in the morning. Thankfully, she had the whole weekend to put things to rights again before she had to return to work on Monday morning. John, bless him, had worked extremely hard to keep the house tidy. Any other man would probably treat the place like a pigsty, but John's years of living alone, not to mention the army, had instilled a strict discipline in him when it came to cleanliness. Another reason why he was the perfect man for her.

She was just brushing her teeth when she heard a series of expletives from below. She hurried to the bathroom door.

"John?" she called. "You haven't hurt yourself, have you?"

"No," came his angry reply. "Just some other bloody disaster."

"What happened?"

He didn't reply. She heard him stomping about beneath her feet. Sighing, she returned to the bathroom, finished cleaning her teeth, then headed down to see the disaster for herself. Whatever it was, she was sure it could be fixed. It was probably just John being John, with his anxious attention to detail and his self-blaming when things weren't quite to his exacting standards.

When she reached the kitchen, she stopped short.

"John, what's this?" she asked tentatively.

He turned to her, scowling, pink material spread out across the worktops, interspersed with one bright splash of red. That wasn't right. His work shirts should have been pure white.

"I didn't know it was there," he said.

"Didn't you shake them all out before putting them in?"

"Clearly not," he snapped grumpily, and swore again as he turned to inspect the damage. "I thought I was doing you a good deed by doing as much washing as I could before you got home. I wanted it to be a nice surprise for you."

A hysterical bubble of laughter rose within her, and she struggled to swallow it. She stepped into the room and picked up the damp negligee.

"I always thought pink would suit you," she said, tongue firmly in cheek.

John didn't look impressed by her jesting, scrunching up his ruined shirts in a damp ball. "That's bloody fantastic. They were all of my white shirts. What am I supposed to do for Monday? I can't go in wearing pink! It's not part of the dress code, and Robert would never let me live it down."

"I don't think he'd have a leg to stand on, to be honest. Don't you remember that Christmas jumper he wore last year?"

He winced. "I try and forget that."

"It's not the end of the world. You can go and get some new ones tomorrow. There's time before Monday."

"But I hate shopping."

Men. John was no different to most in that regard. He would quite happily wear the same clothes until they fell off him because they were so threadbare. "That's up to you. But I'd strongly suggest you _do_ go out and get some new shirts, unless you secretly want to wear these pink monstrosities."

He wrinkled his nose. "I definitely don't. But it cuts down on the time we have together. I haven't seen you for a whole week. I don't want to waste a single second of this weekend."

"Charmer," she teased. "But look on the bright side."

"There's a bright side to this?"

She held up the negligee. "At least this didn't get ruined."

"I'm not sure how that's going to help me at the current time."

"Oh? Then maybe you need your memory refreshing…" She held it up in front of herself seductively, and watched his eyes darken.

"Maybe I do," he growled. "Though I'm not sure how sensible it is to wear that right now. It's soaking wet."

"It'd cling in all the right places," she said, winking at him. "Or you can use your imagination. I trust it's still in good working order?"

"It's in peak form," he said. "I've had to use it all week."

She arched her eyebrow at him.

Evidently realising the entendre behind his words, he rolled his eyes. "And you say that my mind is always in the gutter. Get up those stairs, woman, and get into bed."

"And there you go, defeating the innocence of _your_ words," she responded cheekily. "Unless you want to sleep when you get there. If that's the case, I take it all back."

John held his hands up in defeat. "Sleep wasn't really on my mind."

Anna crossed the space between them and pulled the last pink shirt out of his hands. "Good answer, Mr. Bates. Now let's go."

With that, she tugged him in the direction of the stairs. Worries about pink shirts could wait until the morning.

* * *

More firsts came and went. Their first fight in their own home. Their first time making up in a bed that was jointly theirs. Their first household bills, their first joint statement.

All of it was so utterly wonderful.

The months passed, and they grew into their new routines. Waking up every day to one another's faces. The mad dashes around the house as they got ready for work, ducking around each other for the coffee pot, one cleaning their teeth at the sink while the other tried to gauge how good their hair looked. The first thrills grew into a contented domesticity. Comfort. A sense of belonging.

A true home.

It was all Anna had ever wanted, and she could finally say that she had got it. The future looked very bright indeed.

* * *

When Anna told Mary the news, her best friend did not respond with the enthusiasm she had been expecting. Instead, she said, "Well, this is it. This is the final straw. It really does spell the end, you know. It's all downhill from here. You've a life of monotony ahead of you now." It was a rather disappointing and cynical outlook—Anna had been hoping that her best friend would be over the moon for her—but she was determined not to let that spoil anything.

Because John had just asked her to marry him.

It had been perfect. Just the two of them, the stars above their heads, a beautiful ring that glinted. The sure knowledge that very soon indeed, they would both have the same name.

Or all three of them would.

Anna smiled a secret smile to her reflection, smoothing her hand over her stomach. She finished up in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom, where John was already sprawled out on top of the covers, waiting for her. He pushed himself up into a sitting position when she entered.

"Is something wrong?" he asked her, frowning.

She smiled harder. "No, there's nothing wrong."

"Then what is it?"

She smoothed her hand over her belly one more time. "Well, you see, I have something to tell you…"

It was another wonderful first. And they still had so many more to come.


End file.
